


Sweet and Sour

by matchstick_dolly



Series: Matches After Midnight [14]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Humor, POV Michael, Season/Series 05 Speculation, Season/Series 05 Spoilers, Sexual Content, Trailer Spoilers, Virginity, a host of himbos, accidentally a '90s romcom?, canon will spit on this, the fourteen-billion-year-old virgin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 12:35:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25969810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matchstick_dolly/pseuds/matchstick_dolly
Summary: (Warning: Season 5 speculation/spoilers.) Making amends might be Michael's only way back into Heaven, which is why he agrees to help annoyingly cheery Ella Lopez move into her new apartment. But stepping into a world of nerd kitsch and human perversion may instead make Michael the latest angel to fall.
Relationships: Ella Lopez/Michael
Series: Matches After Midnight [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620778
Comments: 66
Kudos: 210





	Sweet and Sour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [venividivictorious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/venividivictorious/gifts).



> Thanks to [MoanDiary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoanDiary/pseuds/MoanDiary) for the beta read!

Amenadiel wouldn't shut up.

"—will be good for you, Michael. And you'll see that when you put yourself out there, great things can—"

Michael nodded along, disinterested while he sipped his coffee and eyed the humans in Beelzebean. A few tables away from where he sat with Amenadiel, a woman was wrangling her two troublesome descendants. Michael couldn't determine their age—they were somewhere between Amenadiel's son and Chloe's daughter in terms of development—but he knew well the rivalry playing out between girl and boy. The mother had helped the girl with her jacket first, which the boy naturally took offense to, and so he tugged his sister's ponytail hard enough to yank her backwards. She screamed and hit him. 

These were Father's favorite creations—Amenadiel's and Lucifer's, too. Michael couldn't understand why.

"Brother, are you listening?"

" _Yeppers_ ," he assured, lifting his coffee cup as the boy and girl throttled each other.

Satisfied, Amenadiel carried on. He still believed he was some authority on righteousness, as if he hadn't lain with a human woman and begotten a child. Michael barely contained a shudder. Once, he had looked up to his older brother, and he was tolerable now, all things considered, as he helped Michael navigate the human world Father had sentenced him to live peaceably on for the foreseeable future. But it wasn't like they _got_ each other.

"Both of you _stop_ it!" the mother snapped, grabbing hold of the boy's arm and stuffing it into a hoodie. "You're not going to the zoo," she said before turning to the girl, "and you're not either, not until you apologize and hug."

The children obeyed, their faces pinched by scowls as they wrapped their arms around one another. Michael knew the mandated affection wouldn’t matter much. For a while, maybe, things would be good, but then the shining one, whichever child that may be, would shine, while the other would get swallowed up by shadow. It'd be Shining One this and Shining One that. The shadow child would go unnoticed until he or she acted out.

Once, long ago, Lucifer compared him to a crabapple: pretty on the outside, sour within. Michael hated how true it was after years of living with the specter of an evil identical twin who got all the attention. Even this coffee shop was a nod to Satan, for Christ's sake. Truth be told, Michael would shed his face if he could. Lucifer didn't know how good he had it. Sure, the Devil looked like an overcooked hot dog, but at least, for a little while, he didn't have to look in the mirror and see his brother's face. Michael would call that a blessing.

"So you'll help Ella move this weekend?"

Michael blinked to attention. "You think I'm gonna _what_?"

Amenadiel sighed. "Help Ella move this weekend."

"I have plans." He picked at the paper napkin beneath his coffee cup.

"No, you don't."

"You don't _know_ ," Michael spat, watching the woman and her children shuffle out of the cafe. "I've been here a while. I'm...settling in. Making friends." 

Did plants count? They were alive. 

"Uh-huh," Amenadiel replied dryly. "I've already told her you're helping."

Michael glared.

"You need to make things right after all the pain you caused." Michael schooled his face to keep from cringing. "Service is one way of doing that."

Maybe it was. Not that he thought he needed forgiveness from Lucifer's and Amenadiel's herd of humans. But maybe if he did this Father would let him go home. He'd had enough of Earth and watching Lucifer get everything he could possibly want. 

"Okay, fine," he said, throwing his hands up. "I'll help her move." He held up a finger, warning off Amenadiel's big, toothy grin. "But that's it. I'm done after that. I can only take so much of Ella's sunshiney bullshit."

* * *

The way time moved on Earth fucking _blew_. At first it had been fine. Michael hadn't noticed anything strange about it. But the longer he stayed grounded to the plane, the more he _needed_ sleep every night, just like he required food to stave off hunger pains. He could survive on less sleep than humans, but then he could also survive getting hit by a train. Just because you could, didn't mean you wanted to. Beauty rest, apparently, was real, and Michael was an asshole without it. Even he could see that.

His phone—because he had a phone now—sounded its alarm at 5:00 a.m. Cursing, he blindly groped for the device on his nightstand. He'd once heard a human call this hour the ass crack of dawn, and he couldn't disagree. Why _had_ Father given Earth's morning an ass crack? 

Sitting up, he patted absently at his curly hair and looked around his squat studio apartment with its white walls and what Linda Martin had said was Swedish furniture. Amenadiel was paying for the apartment, which probably, in a roundabout way, meant _Lucifer_ was paying for it, and, oh, if that didn't smart. Amenadiel could barely hold down a job. Meanwhile, if there was one thing Michael had learned while sneaking into his twin brother's life, it was that Lucifer was up to his eyeballs in money, not to mention women who made absolutely horrifying offers of their loins. Even worse, some men did it, too. Michael supposed this happened naturally when you were as unscrupulous as the Devil. 

Father would see in time. Lucifer hadn't changed one bit.

After dressing in jeans and a crumpled shirt he found on the floor, Michael dragged on sunglasses and pulled a black baseball cap low on his forehead. He stared for a long time into the mirror above his tiny bathroom sink, at his covered head and eyes and slanted shoulders. Learning about self-actualization was the worst thing that had ever happened to him. Why couldn't he just _make_ himself straighten without pain? No matter how much he willed it, he remained deformed in his natural state. In lieu of a more significant transformation, he forced a smile to his face, reaching for his brother's blindingly brilliant grin, but all he could muster was a twisted smirk amid his thick beard.

Life sucked, and the Shining One had a way of getting all the light. 

With a sigh, he left his bathroom and stepped onto the cramped balcony of his third-floor studio, where he unfurled wings replete with iron-hued feathers. Everything in his right wing groaned in protest, but he held the wing aloft with his usual stubbornness.

"Holy shit!" a man yelled from below, and Michael rocketed into the sky.

There was no joy to be found in flight, only efficiency, and he could hardly remember the days when it had been otherwise. Beating his wings, catching the currents, tugged on old, torn ligaments that were knotted with scar tissue. The pain was always with him. The only thing that had changed in many thousands of years was that now it was infinitely worse, knowing it was at least somewhat self-inflicted.

Even if it hadn't begun that way. Not that anyone cared to remember. Everyone focused on the brother who'd gone to Hell, not the one who'd narrowly escaped it.

Ella Lopez's apartment complex was old, five stories tall, and coral pink. He landed gently on the adjacent oil-stained parking lot next to a small white-and-orange moving truck. There was an illustration of a giant turquoise fish head on the side of the vehicle for reasons mostly unknown, though it had something to do with Vermont, which he'd once seen on a map. Maybe that would be a good place to go, Michael thought, hiding his imperfect wings. Somewhere _away_. Maine was even farther, he recalled, and home to Stephen King, to whom he had taken a recent liking.

"Hey, Mikey-Mike!" 

Michael barely contained a wince as he slowly gazed up beneath his baseball cap. Ella Lopez was hanging over her balcony, waving her arm like a pool noodle. With black hair pinned into two small buns that sat atop her head like ears, she looked like an exuberant teddy bear—far too much energy for this hour. Forcing another smile to his face, he waved back, his hand slicing once through the air before dropping. Straightening his shoulders as best he could, he headed into the building.

The more good deeds he got over and done with, the sooner Amenadiel would stop crawling up his ass. The sooner Father would see this was all just one big misunderstanding. Or, not a misunderstanding, maybe, but a minor blip on eons of dedicated service.

On the fourth, musty floor of the building, Ella burst from her apartment before he could even knock, pop music flooding out with her. 

" _Dude_! Thank you so, so, so much for coming!" With that, she lunged like a wildcat and threw her arms around him. "You. Are. A. Life. Saver." 

Michael stood very still as she held to his waist, his hands falling lightly to her back. Outside of Lucifer, Ella was the most annoying person he'd ever met, but he liked that she hugged everyone, even someone like him, who had conned her at the start. He liked it, even if it did cause a twinge in his bunched wing muscles to return it. The last person who had hugged him sincerely was Uriel, but then Ella gave no insincere hugs. She was an inherently sincere person. 

"Don't tell Lucifer, but you're way better at the hugs." When she stepped away, still beaming, he felt cold.

"I don't talk to Lucifer." Not if he could help it.

Her smile wavered. "Yeah, you two have quite the history, right? Like, really, really _old_ history. I know it can't compare, but I don't always get along with my brothers, either. I mean, Ricardo was supposed to be here today, but he bailed last minute."

"Sounds like an ass."

Ella laughed. "That's just family sometimes, I guess." She shrugged. "You gotta find a way to get along, even when they're not exactly who you need them to be." She was sad when she said it, but after a fleeting moment of grief, she shook herself with renewed cheer. "Anyway! Come on in! Sorry the place is a mess, but you know how moving is."

Michael didn't, really, but it was an understatement to call the sight within a "mess." It was more like stepping amid the surviving remnants of a house after a tornado. Boxes, bubble wrap, and the detritus of a very nerdy woman's life exploded across every available surface in the small open plan kitchen and living room. There were books everywhere, rolled up posters, squat plastic dolls with big heads and round, black eyes. Plush, cozy-looking furniture, backed against walls and sitting across from tie-dye bean bag chairs, were so covered in things that there was nowhere left to sit. Worse, almost none of the boxes were taped shut. Michael stared at the colorful mayhem with dread. 

Turning off her music, Ella grimaced. "I've still got a ton to pack, sorry." 

"Yeah," Michael intoned dryly, "I see that."

There went his day of...reading.

"Amenadiel said you'd be cool with helping, what with..."

"What with me being a jobless, grade-A asshole?"

"Aww, don't beat yourself up so much, man, but...I guess? Anyway, I worked hella overtime yesterday and I'm basically running on four—no, five!—cups of coffee." She was, in fact, speaking at an unnaturally fast speed. "Oh! Do you want a cup of coffee, too? Or tea or hot chocolate or anything? I haven't had breakfast yet—who needs breakfast when you haven't gone to bed, am I right?—but I've got bread for toast and, like, four different jams, or—"

"Coffee, yes." 

"Great!" 

She shoved past him into her small kitchen. He watched as she bent to a lower cabinet, and it was then he realized she wasn't dressed in her usual attire, not quite. She still wore one of her silly little t-shirts. This one was white, showcased a red die with many faces, and had the phrase _This is how I roll_ on it—a joke, he was certain, though it was somewhat lost on him, as many of her t-shirt jokes were. What had changed were the jeans, which she'd exchanged for tiny red gym shorts. Michael stared at the backs of her smooth, light brown thighs as she bent at the waist. 

Ella rose with a small plastic cup. He looked away as she began tinkering with what appeared to be the coffee machine. There were many magnets holding up many photos on her fridge. Photos of people from the precinct, strangers, and familiar faces, too, including Chloe's and...his brother's. He stared. Lucifer didn't look like _either_ of them when he was with Chloe. Or maybe, instead, he looked like he once had, bursting with light and purpose. The implications made Michael uncomfortable, made his lips feel like they were crawling with disease when he thought of Chloe kissing him on sight. And not just because kissing repulsed him, but because she'd been so happy, thinking he was someone else. Because he'd wanted her to think that, consequences be damned. He tore his eyes away from the photo.

Two magnets, a cat with glasses and a skull with a sombrero, pinned up a Bible verse which had been handwritten by Ella.

_"Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things." —Philippians 4:8_

The verse seemed to embody everything Ella was, and everything Michael was not. It was hard to think pure and lovely thoughts when the brother who didn't deserve happiness had gotten it.

"I figure with your help," Ella began, pulling him from his thoughts, "we can get everything outta here by seven."

Michael glanced doubtfully around her apartment. "Why seven?" _How_ seven?

"I gotta drop off my keys to the landlady by then, and Ricardo—that's my brother I mentioned; well, one of them—wants his truck back."

"Your brother owns a moving truck?"

Ella tilted her head. "Uh, no? A pickup."

"But there's a moving truck outside."

"Ohhh!" She slapped a hand to her forehead. "In the parking lot! Yeah, that's not mine. Somebody else is moving out, I think. Or in." While the coffee machine hummed, she turned and latched onto his left arm, her fingers hooking onto his skin with a familiarity he wasn't sure he appreciated. Overwhelmed, Michael followed her to the apartment's open balcony. " _That's_ the truck we're using." She pointed down.

Michael bent over the balcony railing and followed her finger to the squat pickup truck parked on the yellowed grass at the front of the complex. The ancient vehicle was covered with dents, and its navy paint was chipping. 

"You're using _that_?" he cried. "It's going to take forever!" 

"Oh, have some faith!" She elbowed him gently and grinned. "Get it?"

Michael scowled at her.

"Jeez, tough crowd. Anyway, I pack like I'm playing Tetris." Michael didn't know what Tetris was, but he doubted its relevance. "It'll be a few extra trips, but hey, free is free, man."

"Yeah, but does it run?"

"Of course it runs," she huffed. "Who do you think fixed her up?" 

" _You_?" 

"Heck, yeah, I did! Sure, she's not as pretty as some, but she purrs like...well, not like a kitten, I guess, more like Eartha Kitt or a chainsaw? All growly."

"Who?"

She looked at him as if he'd grown a second head, which he supposed wasn't outside the realm of possibilities these days. Fuck. "We've gotta expose you to some more culture. What do you guys even get up to in Heaven?"

"Angels mostly work."

"Huh. Can see why that didn't suit Lucifer."

Michael snorted, but didn't reply. He didn't feel like talking about his brother this early in the morning. Or ever.

In her kitchen, they leaned side by side against cheap, grey countertops and nursed their coffees in silence. Even Ella was quiet. As the caffeine hit him hard and burned off quickly, Michael stared dully at the black Nikes on his feet, still uncertain about his stance on human fashion, outside of knowing he had no desire to prance around in suits. His eyes wandered to the much smaller bare feet next to his. Her toenails were painted iris purple. 

Ella stirred, drawing his attention as she drained the last of her coffee and set the mug in the sink. "Ready to get packing, buddy?"

"Sure," he said, and put some effort into not sounding too surly.

She just grinned at him. "One thing before we start..."

Michael froze as she lifted on tiptoe before him. Her fingertips gently brushed his face as she grasped the temples of his sunglasses and pulled them free. Then she pulled off his baseball cap. Blinking, he lifted a hand self-consciously to his unruly hair. "That's better," Ella announced quietly, setting aside his things. "Gotta see who I'm working with, ya know?"

"Yeah, not like you see this face all the time or anything," he said, like the crabapple he was. 

"No way," Ella laughed. "You don't look anything like Lucifer."

Michael was taken aback. "We're _literally_ twins." And he went to some length to right his deformity, which made them look all the more alike. 

She waved a hand, as if that were a minor detail and not the root of all his problems. "Come on, let's get started."

* * *

Packing Ella Lopez's life was a crash course in pop culture. Oh, Michael knew some things from the souls of Heaven (hardly anyone liked the _Star Wars_ prequels, for example), and even more from sniffing around Lucifer's life and possessions, but it was easy to miss the finer details. Two hours into packing boxes, Ella had begun to make an essential list for him: movies he should watch, albums he should listen to, books he should read, games he should play. Her enthusiasm was contagious, and he found himself desperate to acquire her knowledge. 

Using her green gel ink pen, she cheerfully scribbled _Sharknado_ onto the growing list, followed by _Where the Sidewalk Ends_ , _Portal_ , and Joan Osborne, whose name she underlined three times. "Talk about whiplash," she mumbled, before tossing the notepad and pen aside.

Where he sat across from her on the floor amid a pile of toys, Michael lifted a fuzzy, bird-like creature whose body he had expected to be soft, but had discovered was hard beneath its leopard-spotted hair. "This is a cursed thing."

"That's a Furby. You're lucky he doesn't have batteries right now or he'd be giving you a piece of his mind about being held like that."

"Don't think I'd like that," he said, and chucked the creepy artifact into the box of softer toys. The second box.

Ella bent as she packed another stack of books. "Hey, you know what we should do?"

Michael looked up, stuffed dog in hand. Wasn't it enough that he was helping her move? "What?"

She sat back on her heels and swiped a loose strand of hair away from her forehead. "We should totally have a movie night or something. You've got all this great stuff to catch up on, and some of it I haven't seen in ages." She glanced at the cast aside notepad. "I mean, just look at this list! _Fight Club_ , _Ghost_ , _Homeward Bound_ —okay, Shadow's totally gonna make you cry. Oh, man, _Up_ 's even worse."

"I don't cry," he said testily.

" _Pfft_ , whatever you say, buddy." She stretched her foot across the space and nudged his knee. Taken aback by the nonchalant touch, he stared at his own leg as if it were a mystery. "Come on, it'll be fun. Aaanywaaay, I think you could use the distraction. All the moping isn't doing you any good."

"I'm _not_ moping," Michael groused. At her doubtful expression he sighed and dragged a hand through his hair. "Okay, but you don't get _why_ , Ella."

"Uh, yeah, I do. Ya screwed up big time and hate that you're paying for it."

"That's not—"

"And you've got a bum shoulder. Like, a literal chip on your shoulder."

" _Wing_."

"Either way, you gotta own it and get on with life." She tossed another book in the box. "And helping me move isn't some good deed that's gonna, like, fix stuff, even if I am really grateful."

Having his intentions called out embarrassed him. "I'm not—"

"You totally are—you admitted as much yourself. But it's cool." She shrugged. "I think, though, you and me? We could get along. So after this, don't expect me to let you off that easy, Mister."

Michael swallowed and put his attention back on the task at hand. "I guess movie night wouldn't be so bad." Ella's grin was wide in his periphery. "I think I'd like it," he admitted. "Just...don't invite my brother." He didn't have to say which one. "Or Chloe."

"Deal."

They continued to pack, and Ella continued to chatter away. It annoyed him less, strangely, the more she did it and the more he really listened. She was an interesting person, it turned out, full of stories about her life in Detroit, the things she loved, and bizarre cases she saw at work. And she never spoke about his brother, even when Michael could sense the Devil's influence on some of the investigations. The consideration wasn't lost on him.

Periodically, they would gather enough boxes to warrant a trip to the truck, and Michael would lift them all in one go and see to them himself. He assured himself that he wasn't showing off, not at all. It was just a matter of practicality if they wanted to get the job done by seven. Even with an injury, human objects weighed nothing to angels.

He returned to the apartment after another trip to the truck. "There's room for a few more boxes," he announced.

Hands on her hips, Ella turned around her slowly emptying living room. "Let me think of what should go next."

Michael started to open the door to her front coat closet. "Do you have anything in here that—"

"Don't open that!"

But it was too late. The door had opened enough that the inflated pool toys stuffed into hiding popped out like oversized confetti.

"What is all this?" Michael laughed, batting aside an oncoming unicorn ride-on. A round flamingo inner tube lay at his feet, and a beach ball bounced and rolled behind him.

Ella rushed over and grabbed the unicorn. "Uh...my side hustle."

"What's a side hustle?" he asked, picking up the flamingo by its long neck.

She stood straight, giant unicorn float under one arm. "You know, a second job? For extra money? L.A.'s expensive, man."

Michael looked into the closet, where an alligator and an avocado lay in wait. "How do these make you extra money?"

"Let's just say some dudes like to see me cannonball onto them in the pool."

"Why?"

"Oh, man, you're really dragging this out, aren't you?"

He frowned, uncertain what she meant. "Is this a good job?" He would need human work, at some point, if he didn't want to be indebted to his brothers. "Maybe I should try it."

"Are you kidding?" she snorted, before realizing he wasn't. "I mean, sure, yeah. If you wanted to do it, people would _definitely_ pay to see you jump into a pool with these. Like, big bucks."

Ella looked at him, but not in the way he was used to, more in the way women looked at Lucifer. Her eyes roved from his face, down the length of his body, appraisingly. And he found...he didn't mind it because she was looking at _him_ that way, not his brother. He drew back his shoulders and stood a little taller. 

They deflated the pool toys, loaded a few more boxes onto the truck, and set out on the road to Ella's new apartment. The truck growled, but otherwise ran smoothly for the fifteen-minute drive. Michael eyed the time on his phone doubtfully. 

She drove them deep into Los Angelan suburbia until she parked in front of a more modern, split level home, where she explained she was renting the top floor. It had a separate, private entrance and was nicer than the place she was living in now—roomier, newer, and certainly quieter. The walls within were dull and white, but already Michael could imagine her filling it with color and personality. He could imagine sharing movie nights with her here. 

They carried in the boxes from the truck, Ella one or two, and Michael four or more, at a time. When the last box was tucked into the apartment, Ella turned to him and lifted a hand expectantly. "One truckload down! Lay it here, buddy!"

Bewildered by the human tradition, Michael nonetheless lifted his hand, and she jumped up to slap his palm. 

Trouble set in between her leap and her landing. Their hands met in a satisfying clap, and for reasons unknown, in the same way Michael did not know _why_ he needed food and sleep now, his focus drifted from her face, to her chest, which bounced with her movement. She was sweaty, and her white shirt clung to her curves there, including two small peaks that poked out beneath the lining of her bra. Michael's mouth fell open as she landed back on her heels and looked up at him with a great, big smile.

Divine revelations were peculiar things. Michael could count on one hand the number of times he had experienced an awakening, and none had been so terribly physical as this. The _stirring_ was immediate and uncontrollable, and he knew what it was—of _course_ , he knew what it was. Arousal was a disgustingly human aberration that otherwise only afflicted Lucifer—and apparently Amenadiel, the fucking hypocrite. Obedient angels did _not_ experience desire because their attention was set on Heaven and fulfilling God's will.

Heaven had never been so far from Michael's mind as it was now.

"I need your bathroom," he croaked.

"Oh, yeah, no problem," Ella said, even as he was already rushing away from her and down the apartment's lone hallway.

He slammed the bathroom door shut behind him and looked down at his crotch, at _the betrayal_. The bulge pressed at the confines of his jeans and _grew_ horrifyingly before his eyes, as if it were a monster taking control of his very being.

"Don't self-actualize," he begged himself, and let out several uneven breaths. The kind Linda had taught him for "anxiety." They didn't help. 

The erection felt nothing like he would have assumed. He'd have expected more _inconvenience_. It _was_ that—inconvenient—but it was also...good, very good. And he knew, instinctively, what would make it even better. That thing he'd stumbled upon countless humans doing on Earth and even in Heaven, that thing he definitely should not do as a soldier of God. But he got harder, just thinking about it.

Cursing himself, he quietly began to hum one of his favorite celestial hymns, but it was too late. The levee had broken, and images of Ella Lopez assaulted him. There was the curve of her ass in her red gym shorts, the smooth brown skin of her thighs, the cling of her t-shirt. Her laugh, her fingers on his arm, her toes against his knee. And then, unbidden, a vision came to him of Ella, half-naked and straddling an inflated unicorn. 

Oh. _Oh._

_That_ was the side hustle. 

Squeezing his eyes shut, Michael lay a hand over his tented jeans and hissed at the contact. It was so good and not at all enough. His fingers flew to the button of his pants with intention. He needed...

"No, no, _no_ ," he chastised himself, raising his hands in the air.

Spinning round in a panic, he turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on his face, willing his body to calm. He was there for quite some time, humming and splashing, and all but praying. (He would not _dare_ pray. He would be an even bigger laughing stock of Creation.)

Eventually, knuckles rapped against the door. "You okay in there, Mikey-Mike?"

Dear Heavenly Father.

At the sound of Ella's voice, Michael's quiet hum got caught in his throat, and his eyes rolled back in his head. He clutched the edge of the sink and let out a small groan at the unfairness of the moment.

" _Oof_ , yeah, I feel you, man. Coffee hits me hard, too, sometimes."

"I'm fine," he gasped, willing it to be so. "I'm fine, Ella. You go on to the old apartment. I'll catch up." 

"But—"

"I'll fucking fly!" He winced at his coarseness. "I'm sorry. I just...give me some time. I'll be there soon, okay?"

"Okay," she said doubtfully. "Want me to try to find some stomach medicine first? Pretty sure that's in one of these boxes."

" _No_. Please go. I'll be right behind you, promise."

What a thing to say. He'd seen plenty of humans get behind each other like beasts. And yet the thought was an inspiration, rather than a horror.

Michael sighed in relief when she walked away. Turning off the water, he stared at himself in the mirror, at his slanted shoulders and his carbon copy face with its crabapple scowl. He wasn't as hard now, mostly supremely embarrassed—and frightened. There was a dissatisfied ache in his loins, coupled with the certainty that he would experience blinding desire again in the future, that there was no going back to sleep after this awakening. 

In all eternity, only two angels had dared fall prey to desire and fraternize with humans, and look what had become of them. They were slaves to the flesh. Michael feared he could understand why. 

* * *

Things were awkward when he made his way back to Ella's old apartment, though it was hard to say if the awkwardness was felt by the both of them, or solely by him, which, in a way, was the story of Michael's life.

"Hey," Ella said, looking up from a box when he entered. "You okay?" 

"Peachy." He was the very opposite of okay, yet his stomach performed a somersault to know she cared. "But thanks for asking." 

"Sorry about being nosy before." She gave a sheepish shrug. "In my family, we kinda lived on top of each other, you know? And I was, like, the only girl with all the guys, and—"

"Don't sweat it." He was sweating enough for the both of them. "But can we speed this up a bit?"

Maybe if he got away from her toned legs and perky— If he got away from her, he'd stop thinking about _that_ —all of it, all the many, many ways humans took pleasure in themselves and others. He looked away from her, desperate to focus on anything other than the gentle-faced woman who was currently cradling an ant farm. She didn't even look the same to him now, not quite. His senses were heightened by his revelation in a way he wished they were not, until she appeared to him as a saint illuminated by a nimbus.

This was not good.

"Oh, yeah, I was thinking we should hurry things up, too," Ella agreed, but there was a sadness to her tone that cut at him as few things did. "Like, we're never gonna get finished by seven if I keep getting nostalgic. Even if that's been fun."

Michael swallowed hard. "My thoughts exactly."

"And I get it. You've got stuff to do. It's cool. It's just been really great having you—your help."

"I haven't minded." He was surprised to realize he meant that.

"Cool. So I'll just... I'll go pack my bedroom, then." She looked around the remaining odds and ends in the living room. "Think you can finish up here and in the kitchen? I don't really care how you pack stuff. It's not a long journey."

He nodded. 

They separated, she turned her music back on, and Michael let out a relieved sigh. Without Ella's company, he felt less discombobulated, but also felt the full weight of the chore. Her many passions and her eagerness to enlighten him had made the work and day speed by. The only problem was he'd become _too_ enlightened, and very little was required to inspire him now. He removed a photo from the fridge of Ella in a bikini at the beach and quickly stuffed it deep into a box. Even so, it remained branded on his soul.

As he worked, bubblegum pop and rap music drifted over him, speaking of things angels never entertained in the Silver City, but that were all the rage among humans everywhere. There were love songs, yes, but more than that, there were songs about _sex_ that were filled with enough euphemisms for body parts to make even his twin brother proud. Knowing Lucifer, he'd probably created a few of the metaphors. _Disgusting_.

Some of the songs left little to the imagination.

_He say he don't like 'em bony, he want something he can grab..._

Michael looked up almost hopefully when Ella reentered the room, but she was only there to set a box at the front door. She squatted down as she placed the box on the tiled entranceway, and what a sight that was. Michael stood still in the living room, his lips parted, his injured muscles aching.

_Look at her butt_

Her hips flexed and her legs spread, drawing the red gym shorts up her thighs.

_This dude named Michael—_

He startled to attention at the sound of his name in the song. _Shit_.

"Not again," he snapped down at himself. This thing had a mind of its own. How did any man survive?

Ella popped up and whirled around. "Did you say something?"

_My anaconda don't, my anaconda don't..._

Michael snatched up a bean bag chair and held it in front of himself. "Nope."

Dropping the bean bag when she was out of sight, Michael became a whirlwind of motion. He had to get out of this apartment and away from Ella Lopez before disaster struck. He moved at celestial speed, stuffing pots, pans, and dishes into a box. Into another, he raked a whole cabinet's worth of spices and herbal teas. When all the shelves and cabinets were empty, he looked around the small kitchen, high strung and uncertain.

"Ella?" he called.

" _Yeah_?" she yelled from the bedroom.

"Does _everything_ go?"

There was a pause, but then she replied, "Yeah! Nothing's staying!"

Nodding to himself, Michael moved to the kitchen appliances, yanking electric cords free from the wall. The fridge and freezer were full of food, but if they moved the fridge fast enough, everything should be fine, right? Shrugging, he taped the doors shut, just to be safe.

When he was positive everything was secure, he lifted the fridge with ease. Food slid and clunked inside, and bottles rattled, but he paid the sounds no mind. Ella wanted the fridge moved, Michael would fucking move the fridge. It wasn't even heavy, but it was bulky and awkward, and it was going to be a pain in the ass to get down four flights of stairs. He shuffled toward the box-littered entrance. 

_Monopolize_ , a new artist rapped over Ella's speakers. _Don't ask me for my size. You'll appreciate me when I'm in your motherfuckin' thighs..._

"Jesus Christ," Michael breathed against the fridge. Was _nothing_ wholesome? 

Exasperated, he turned away from the front door and began waddling toward the balcony. He could not, would not, tolerate hours more of such perversity and what it might do to him. While the rapper went on about horny bitches, Michael squeezed the fridge past the glass partition and, without further delay, bent and chucked the appliance overboard. Leaning on the railing, he watched as gravity did the rest. 

In the future, when Michael would look back on this critical moment in his very long life, he would remember it as having happened in slow motion. He would remember the perfect arc of the refrigerator as it sailed through the air, the musical crash of glass bottles shattering within the appliance, and, of course, the Fall. 

The fridge slammed into the truck bed with a solid clunk and the screech and squeal of cratered metal. All at once, the truck's back rims popped off like champagne corks, and the fridge wobbled and fell, shattering the cab window. The rear tires toppled forward onto the ground. If the truck ever ran again, it'd be a miracle.

"Michael!" Ella yelled as she ran out of her bedroom. "What _was_ that?" Breathless from a rush of adrenaline, she joined him on the balcony. "Are you okay?"

"Uh, _I'm_ fine," he said, staring at the wreckage. 

Slowly, Ella leaned over the railing. Michael watched the expression on her face morph from one of concern to one of utter disbelief. He opened his mouth to explain, but no words came to him. _How_ could he explain? Inside the apartment, a woman was singing about love.

Ella turned to him and for a moment simply stared. Her hair had begun to fall from its tightly-woven buns. Gone was the exuberant teddy bear; in her place was a harried, five-foot grizzly. 

"I'm sorry," Michael said in a rush.

"Sorry?" she echoed in disbelief. "You fucking _pendejo_!" She slapped the railing with each word.

"I'll fix it." He had no idea _how_ he would fix this, but he would. "I thought it would work. Clearly I was wrong and should have seen it coming. It's just, you know, I've been under a lot of _pressure_ today."

" _You've_ been under a lot of pressure? Newsflash, dude, no one cares, and _I'm_ the one moving! God, that was my _brother's_ truck! And my _landlord's_ fridge!"

"You said nothing was staying!" 

"I didn't mean the fridge!" 

Michael leaned into one corner of the balcony as she unloaded on him, gesturing wildly, her English and Spanish weaving together a seamless tapestry of terror. She was still haloed as a saint to him, but now aglow with righteous anger. And—

Ella stopped abruptly, her eyes settled low. "Are you...?"

He looked down at himself, feeling and knowing full well what he would see, but willing it to be a dream. For it to be a little less _obvious_. Heavens above, this was so much worse than a deformed wing. 

"I'm sorry," he said again, glancing down at his erection, and immediately jogged uncomfortably indoors.

"Michael!" She was laughing at him. Everyone always laughed at him. "Just wait a second."

"No." He went into the kitchen and found his hat and sunglasses. "I think— I think I should go."

Ella trailed behind him. "Dude, just stop a second, would you?" Reluctantly, he halted at the door to her apartment. "I'm not, like, offended—by that, at least. It happens. Now, the fridge and truck..."

"You don't understand. These sorts of physiological responses happen to _you_."

"Uh, I don't have the equipment for that," she teased.

Michael's cheeks burned as his mind exploded with unwanted imagery. "I don't mean _that_. I mean this happens to _humans_ ," he clarified contemptuously, still facing the door. "This is not normal for me."

"Buddy, pretty sure it's normal for you guys, too. It's not like Lucifer—" 

"I am _not_ my brother."

Ella snorted. "Sure. You just wanted us to believe you were."

He straightened his shoulders and found the pain helped other parts of his body relax. "I already admitted what I did was wrong." That was all any of them were getting from him. 

She sighed. "Look, I don't care about the boner"—Michael let out a pained sound—"but can we see to getting me out of here? I've only got five more hours in this place, I've already missed lunch, and now my brother's truck is totaled."

Carefully, Michael turned. He kept his eyes on her face. "What do I need to do to make this right?" he asked, not to weasel his way back into Heaven, but because it felt like the right thing to do.

"I've got an idea, but...you're not gonna like it," she warned.

* * *

Ella was right. He didn't fucking like it. Amenadiel stood at the end of the truck bed, bent over as he roared with laughter for the third time. If only Amenadiel's guffaws were the worst of it. But no. Of course they weren't. Because this day just kept getting worse. _Lucifer_ was here, too.

"You didn't need to call him," Michael griped to Ella.

"She didn't," Lucifer remarked, waltzing around the truck while snapping pictures with his cell phone. "Amenadiel did."

"Sorry," Amenadiel choked out between laughs. Michael glared. "Oh, don't give me that look. It's not like I have connections in this town yet. And Ella said she needed to help fast."

"Yes," Lucifer laughed, "sorry, bro. If you want a job done quick smart, you call the Devil." Dusting off the passenger door of the pickup, he pocketed his phone, leaned against the chipped paint, and crossed his ankles. "That said, you've really bloody outdone yourself this time, haven't you?" His grin was infuriating. "Pray tell, how _does_ one cock up fridge removal this badly? Did you forget between the fourth and ground that you've _wings_?" The slant of his mouth turned vicious. "Or is it just that you don't quite enjoy flying?"

Michael stepped forward, ready to throttle him. "You're a fucking as—"

"Hey, knock it off!" Ella shouted, jumping between them. She put a hand on Michael's chest, shocking him to stillness, before she turned to Lucifer. "I _like_ your brother." Michael looked at the back of her head in surprise. "Sure, this is... _really not ideal_ for me, and he's made _other_ mistakes—"

"She means when you impersonated me," Lucifer said, leaning around her. " _Poorly_. Something I haven't quite forgot." 

" _But_ ," Ella interrupted, "he apologized, and he's trying to be a better person, and this was just a big misunderstanding between us." Lucifer opened his mouth, and she pointed a finger at him. "And _I_ seem to remember someone _else_ who's been in a position like that a time or two in the past." 

"She's got you there, Luci," Amenadiel said, finally calm.

"Right," Lucifer sighed. "Well, Miss Lopez, this _is_ your home, I suppose, at least for now, and if you require me to be nice to"—he glanced at Michael—"identity-thieving charlatans, I shall respect that." Michael rolled his eyes. "And this unfortunate mess will be cleaned up, regardless—not for my brother's sake, but for _yours_."

"Can we cut the sibling rivalry?" Ella groaned. "I know how that goes, and I just wanna get out of here, okay? So are you guys gonna help or what?" 

"Yeah, clock's ticking, Lucifer," Michael joked dryly.

"Actually, I've already handled the matter," his brother returned snidely, and much to Michael's disappointment. "Movers will be along any minute now to help finish the job, a fridge will be delivered tomorrow morning—oh, and I've got Miss Lopez a new F-150 to replace this travesty."

Ella's gasped, her hands going to her face. "Oh my gosh, _Lucifer_!" Leaping forward, she threw her arms around him. Michael's frown deepened. "Thank you so much! Ricardo's gonna _scream_!"

" _Ricardo_?" Lucifer echoed, hands hovering above Ella's back. "What's one of your... _charming_ brothers got to do with it?"

"It wasn't Ella's truck," Michael explained, and enjoyed Lucifer's disgruntled expression. "Don't humans have some saying about making assumptions?"

But if anyone was being made out as an ass, Michael soon decided it was himself. It was insulting how easily things came to his evil brother and always had. The movers arrived, as promised, as did the truck, all while Lucifer stood off to the side, chuckling to himself while texting on his phone. He didn't have a care in the world now.

Amenadiel helped Michael clean the mess that was Ricardo's former pickup before excusing himself on account of fatherly duties. It was hard to imagine how fatherhood could take up so much time. Their own Father had never needed to bother with them that much, but Michael supposed, with a turned up nose, Charlie was...squishier and more useless than they had ever been.

Ella's possessions were packed neatly and loaded onto a moving van with professional efficiency and precision.

"This is running rather smoothly now, isn't it?" Lucifer boasted to Ella. 

"So much better," she agreed. Glancing at Michael, she added in a rush, "Not that your brother wasn't a great help before!"

"He'd certainly be good at _Katamari_." 

Ella barked a laugh before looking at Michael with the kind of pity he loathed. "That's another game we should play."

"Sure," he said stiffly, and stuffed his fingers into his jean pockets. Why was he even sticking around to be further humiliated?

His brother grabbed hold of one of the movers in passing and wrapped an arm around the shorter man's shoulders. "Not a scratch on a single bobblehead, right, Jimbo?"

"No, sir," the man assured him shakily.

"Good to hear." Lucifer sent him off with a clap to the ass. 

Michael grimaced at the immodesty.

"What's his deal?" Ella asked, eyebrows lifted high.

"Oh, him? Sexual repression with a side of gambling, mostly. Some men simply finger the wrong slots and rack up quite the debt." Shaking his head, he tugged on his lapels. "Anyway, all seems well now, thanks to me, so I best be going."

"Thanks, big guy." Ella grinned at him. "Off on another date?"

A sheepish, though pleased expression crossed Lucifer's features. It wasn't a look Michael was used to seeing on either of their faces. "I am, indeed."

Ella nudged him with an elbow. "How's the weather looking?"

"Ooh, very cloudy," Lucifer sighed, though he seemed to be joking. "Terrible chance of showers."

Michael watched their camaraderie from the shadows of the coral pink apartment building, his stomach knotted by familiar envy. What would it be like to be so cool, calm, and collected? To be the center of every party, the one people turned to with eager smiles, or at least _respect_? Michael had tried to emulate that confidence—tried, even, to embed himself in his brother's, but it wasn't him. It never had been. He was a crabapple and always would be.

Several minutes later, Lucifer's Corvette growled down the road and out of sight. Ella turned from waving at the end of the carpark, her eyes sweeping over the building, until they landed on Michael.

"Hey," she said, coming up to him, hands folded in front of herself. "You got quiet."

"I should head out." He looked at the numerous capable movers. "I think they've got this covered."

"You don't have to go," she said so fervently that it surprised him. "I mean, I know you have things to do or whatever—"

"Not really." He exhaled loudly and admitted, "To tell you the truth, Ella, I kind of don't have a life."

Had he ever?

Another wisp of black hair pulled free from a bun as she tilted her head. "Never too late to start, right?" She chucked a thumb over her shoulder. "How 'bout now? My new landlord is on the first floor; I can text him to let these guys in. You and I can go get a bite to eat. I think I owe you dinner." 

"What on earth do _you_ owe _me_ for?" Despite his foul mood, he breathed a laugh. "The fridge, the truck, or the sexual harassment?"

"Just come on, you dork."

Snickering, she looped her arm with his and curled her hand around his bicep. When she pulled, Michael couldn't help but follow.

* * *

Hours later, Michael ate his last French fry, tossed the empty box aside, and fell back onto the pristine, grooved truck bed. Above, his brother's brightest stars shone through L.A.'s smoggy haze. He stared at them for a long moment before closing his eyes and choosing instead to listen to the waves as they crashed against the nearby shore. It was peaceful here, a secluded place Ella claimed she visited whenever she was trying to make sense of the world.

"I've been coming here a lot ever since I learned the truth about, you know, _everything_ ," she'd explained, as they'd climbed into the back of the truck with their burgers and fries. 

Now, the vehicle shook gently as she lay beside him. Michael tried not to notice her presence or the heat that rolled off her bare legs and seeped into his jeans. He breathed through his nose, willing his body to behave and only half-achieving calm.

"Brothers suck," Ella sighed, knocking his thoughts into a different direction.

He hummed in agreement. "Still angry yours didn't help out?"

"Yeah. And get this? He hasn't even texted me back about the new truck. I just wish they'd, I don't know, follow through for once, without me having to hound them every step of the way? You know, just _show up_?"

"Instead you got me," Michael said dryly.

"You're not so bad." He wasn't sure about that, but he was starved for compliments and didn't argue. "Anyway, that place needed a new fridge. It'll be great for the next tenant."

Ella was so _nice_ it bothered him, not least of all because he knew niceness was easily abused. "Screw Ricardo," he said, turning to look at her. "You should keep the truck for yourself." She'd clearly enjoyed driving it.

"I live in central L.A.," she snorted. "What do I need a truck for?"

"Beats me, but Lucifer's just going to replace it with a piece of shit for your brother." It was a dick move he could actually get behind.

"You don't know that!" she protested. "Lucifer is nice to a _lot_ of people."

"Sure. He's nice to make loyal subjects. Prove disloyal, though, and you're on his shitlist."

"I guess he is the Devil..."

"Yeah, and the Devil isn't good."

Ella frowned. "I think it's more complicated than that. Nobody's all good or all bad." Michael huffed at the idea. "I like to think we're all works in progress. That goes for you, too, you know."

He watched as she sat up and looked down at him, a thoughtful expression on her soft face. She'd loosened her hair from its buns, and it cascaded now around her shoulders in dark waves. In the daylight, she'd seemed a saint, awakening in him a terrible truth. In the night, she was a witch, casting a spell.

"Have you ever been kissed?" she asked.

Dear Heavenly Father.

"I—" Michael stammered and folded his arms over his chest. "Sort of?"

"Chloe thinking you were Lucifer doesn't count."

"Still."

"Okay," she chuckled. " _Other people_ thinking you were Lucifer didn't count, either."

"Then no," he admitted. "But that's fine!" Yet even as he said it, he imagined other things—all the things he had never imagined before coming to Earth or being around Ella when he was just himself.

She grinned widely, as if she could see right through him. "Yeah, it's fine, but do you wanna change it?" 

Michael stared, terrified. His heartbeat thundered, eclipsing the crash and roar of the ocean, and his body ached, as if to answer her question. But his eyes didn't stray from hers, nor hers from his. "Is this about my brother?"

"No." Ella scrunched her nose. "But I won't lie. I thought about it with him."

"Everyone does," he griped.

"Probably. But that was a long time ago." For _her_ , he amended silently. For _her_ it was a long time ago. Because she was human, and he should not be fraternizing with her. "Nothing ever happened between us. And won't." 

"Okay." 

"You're not like Lucifer, though. And I think...there's something here, right? Maybe?"

He hardly knew what she was talking about. Why would anyone be interested in _his_ company? Especially after he'd ruined her day. Especially when he was Lucifer's uncanny valley. 

But then Ella leaned over, and her hair fell about his head like a soft cocoon, and he didn't have any thoughts left to spare. "You wanna kiss me or not, dude? Because if—"

Michael rose up and pressed his mouth to hers. It was a gentle, fleeting touch that Ella didn't tolerate as she followed him back down to the truck bed, smiling. As she kissed him, she inched closer to his body and snaked one leg over his, overwhelming him with her presence. He gasped as her tongue slid over his lips, and he opened to her while she clutched at him, her fingers combing through his curls and beard. His own hands, he had no idea what to do with, but held them close to her, and dared to touch her hair and back.

His tongue swept across hers, and it was as in the early days of Creation, when all was new and filled him with awe. Ella whimpered into the kiss, and finally he let himself touch her as his body cried for him to. He was doomed, of course, not so different from Amenadiel and Lucifer, after all. He would never tire of this. This touch had all the importance of sleep and food. 

A hand trailed down his chest, and his wings trembled unexpectedly within his back. 

" _Ah_ ," he gasped, as Ella yanked open the button to his jeans and pulled down his zipper. "What are you—"

"Do you want me to stop?" she breathed against his cheek, and he could feel the warmth of her hand, hovering above him. 

"No?" Heavens no.

Her lips found his again while her fingers squeezed beneath the waist of his boxers and wrapped around his erection. Michael hissed, breaking their kiss to look at her in shock.

Ella pulled back with a smirk. "Feels pretty good, right?" she asked, and pumped her fist twice.

As she touched him, he muttered a litany of curses before settling on a single, panicked "Oh, fuck." And, then, in the back of Ella's new truck that the Devil had gifted her, Michael stopped breathing altogether. Staring down at Ella's hand working within his blue boxers, he clawed at the truck bed's grooves, feeling lightheaded beneath the pressure of his desire. She squeezed him once more, her thumb swiping across the tip, and that was all it took. 

Michael seized up as his wings burst from his back and fluid—that most vile, mortal seed—sprang from him, coating his shirt in fits and starts. His feathers quirked at wild, uncomfortable angles in the confines of the truck bed. Not that he cared, not with her hand still moving and the beat of his pulse hammering between his legs, driving his hips to undulate.

He fell back on his wings, ignoring the pinch his weight inspired in old, self-actualized scars. Slowly, he returned to himself, though he couldn't hear a fucking thing. He looked at Ella's face, feeling warm at the sight of her beneath the moon. She stared, open-mouthed, at his wings. 

"Shit," he said, his hearing returning in increments. Rolling his shoulders, he went to tuck his wings away, but her free hand grabbed hold of his arm and squeezed.

"Why don't you leave them out?"

He followed her gaze, glancing at his wounded wing with its uneven joint. It was ugly and unimpressive to his eyes, but she looked at it, at him, in wonder. Lying very still, he let her. 

Smiling and removing her hands from him, Ella reached for the bottom of her t-shirt and dragged it off her torso in a single, smooth go. Michael's eyes fell to her chest. Beneath her shirt, she wore a frilly, pale blue bra, which he barely had a chance to appreciate before she unhooked it and tossed it aside, as well. Her breasts were small and lovely and possibly the only set he'd ever looked at for longer than thirty seconds.

"Oh," he breathed, and then glanced down at his lap in disbelief. "Uh..."

She looked with him and laughed. It was a kind, happy laugh that curled around him, leaving him shy, but immensely pleased. He grinned with her, a real grin, his own grin, and proceeded to forget about his wings and everything else.

"This is _so_ cool," Ella said, and launched herself at him.

In her kiss, the world didn't taste quite so sour. 

**Author's Note:**

> [Fic Recs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/matchstick_dolly/bookmarks) • [My Fics, Categorized](https://matchstickdolly.tumblr.com/lucifer-fanfics-by-matchstickdolly) • [My Fanvids on YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCpFt_dvJXpicQkuPOCDEvhg/videos) • [Tumblr](https://matchstickdolly.tumblr.com/)


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